Habit
Piece by piece it is bound like a broom,
Then like a flower, bloom.
No time, but for it you make room,
As if you were the bride and the groom.
Like a cancer it eats to the bone,
Like a cyst it forms a stone.
It gives ecstasy and makes you moan,
Brings the feeling that you are not alone,
Then little by little habit is grown.
The irony when we ask God to take away something from us while we still have deep feelings for that. What do you want?
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